For all the excitement that I often display regarding church polity, I must admit that I have often sensed frustration toward the lay address at Annual and General Conference. More often than not, these addresses tend to be overly optimistic, somewhat hokey, and the word “vision” is typically the primary theme: we need a “vision” for how God can use us to transform our communities and thereby the world, etc.
At first, this was how I received the presentation of the four “areas of focus” at the 2008 General Conference. I didn’t begrudge these “areas of focus” (although I preferred the original seven “pathways”), but the motivational speeches just weren’t my cup of tea. It’s an aesthetic thing, I guess, but aesthetic criticism is always necessary to get to the heart of the matter, and I’ve never really given this an honest look. But a recent read has prompted further examination….
Last weekend I finally read and implemented David Allen’s Getting Things Done. After feeling like my current approach to multitasking needed serious help, I gave my desk and PC a complete overhaul to be more effective and economical with my time and energy. So far, it’s working quite well.
Towards the end of the book, when Allen discusses his six-level model of altitudinal review, I was struck by his use of “areas of focus” in describing the 20,000-foot level. In short, he encourages his readers to periodically review their work and life from several perspectives, each with its own altitude. First, there is the runway, where one examines one’s current actions. This should be done every day. At 10,000 feet, there are current projects to review. At the very least, this should be done once per week. At 20,000 feet are all of one’s areas of responsibility, but in several places he uses the term, “areas of focus,” interchangeably. These are ten to fifteen categories of personal responsibility, e.g. family, church service, finances, and various job responsibilities (for the academic: research, teaching, professional development, administration, etc.). At 30,000 feet are one- to two-year goals; 40,000 ft: 3-5 year vision; 50,000 feet: life in general.
Whether anyone at the Connectional Table was reading GTD two years ago is beside the point. What struck me in this coincidence of terminology, however, is how GTD may actually be construed as an attempt to be a Methodist but in a religiously neutral kind of way.
From 1734 on, John Wesley kept an “exacter diary,” in which he recorded his actions according to every hour of the day. This practice of his emerged during the early student gatherings of “Methodists” at Oxford, and the term “Methodist” referred to the strict manner in which they ordered their personal lives in order to pursue holiness.
It strikes me as a matter of responsible stewardship that we should take the lives that God has granted us and make sure (with God’s grace) that we don’t waste a single minute. Thus periodically reviewing our actions from various “altitudes” is necessary, because if a particular action or project is not relevant to our “areas of focus,” it deserves reevaluation.
In short, by way of GTD, I’ve come to appreciate “the vision thing” a bit more. Of course, it’s not that I was ever against “vision” per se, but rather the way it’s typically presented. Perhaps I still need to examine why I tend to have a gut-level reaction against lay addresses. But the fact of the matter is that such talk is exactly why we confer. And we don’t need David Allen to tell us this. After all, we Methodists have been doing it since 1733.